


Yenning

by Fragged



Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: Coda: The Greater Good, Gen, Masochistic character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 13:24:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5050228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fragged/pseuds/Fragged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's fucked up, <i>he's</i> fucked up, because it should scare him (it <i>does</i> scare him, enough that his hands are flying up and his mouth is babbling some weak explanation, anything to get the animal in front of him to stop, to wait, to hear him out).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yenning

**Author's Note:**

> [Coda to S02E07: The Greater Good.]

Rush feels his skin prickle the moment Young says he'll be the one to accompany him to the alien ship. Fantastic. The two of them, together. Of course that's going to raise every hair on his body in protest – it's not as if the last time Young volunteered to go off-ship with him alone ended too well. Not for Rush, in any case. 

He has to swallow the harsh words that want to wrestle their way out of his throat when Young jokes to Lieutenant Scott that he won't leave Rush behind (maybe not this time). It's a meager comfort that Scott seems to find just as little humor in the false reassurance as Rush does. 

The moment they set foot aboard the alien ship Rush's entire being buzzes with adrenaline and curiosity. There's no telling what they'll find here. There's also no telling what Young is thinking. He's been looking at Rush, he knows something's up, and where the rest of the crew are most likely still in the 'Rush might be hiding something' camp, Young is downright convinced of it. The fact that he's right doesn't make it any less irritating. 

When he manages to get the ship's systems online the engines sputter, and of course Young's first reflex is to blame Rush for that, too. And, worse, to suspect he somehow did it on purpose. It makes his keen instincts about Rush's other subterfuge seem less keen and more like the base, primal reaction of a frightened animal. Young doesn't understand Rush, so he sees him as a threat. He may have a point. Rush _is_ dangerous. Young is right not to underestimate him. 

Not that he's ignoring the fact that in any sort of physical altercation with the man Young will surely have the upper hand, thanks to his bulk and his military training. He remembers what happened on that planet. Remembers Young's strength and his immovability, the punishing blows that seemed aimed to subdue him quickly and effectively, even after Rush jarred him with a rock to the skull. Rush can scrap, but Young can _fight_. 

In a sick sense, he appreciates that about the man. Any sign of competence from the colonel usually fills Rush with an odd sensation – something between the rapid fluttering of a rodent's heart and the sinuous, hissing slither of a thousand poisonous snakes in his veins. 

None of it matters, not right now, because the ship is ballistic and there's nothing Rush can do about it from here. When he tells Young as much the man finally stops spouting his empty accusations and stares at him with the gravitas the situation deserves. They're flying away from Destiny, and as far as Young is aware they have no way of getting the ship to catch up with them. Of course Rush knows better, but how is he going to get the Destiny steered in their direction without letting everyone in on the existence of the bridge? 

“What?” he demands, giving Young a glance over his shoulder, hoping he doesn't look as skittish as he feels. 

“I don't know,” Young says with a little shrug and an expression Rush'd have a hard time figuring out on a good day, which this is decidedly _not_. “You tell me.” 

The man is like a goddamn mountain, not budging an inch. Rush knows Young's suspicion is nebulous, he doesn't have the brain capacity to figure out what he's missing, he's simply aware _that_ he's missing something, and he's bitten down on it, on Rush, like a pit bull unwilling to let go.

Rush feels a number of minute muscles in his face twitch as he delivers his lie about his program to override Destiny's autopilot. He and Young both know he's not telling the truth, but the science team doesn't. And Young doesn't know how to call him out on it – _what_ to call him out on – so as Rush's words spill out they pick up steam until the uncertainty in his voice drains away and the fabrication starts to sound almost believable to his own ears. 

Mandy is the perfect solution. She is clever enough, and, more importantly, he can trust her. In all honesty (and yes, he realizes Young would snort derisively if he heard him think that phrase), she's the _only_ person he can trust. It's not as if he has people lining up to be his friends or confidants. Mandy is special. She knows him better than anyone else. She's the only person who seemed to genuinely enjoy his company after Gloria's death. She's the only person he considers a friend, in the entire universe. 

Young gives him a suspicious look when he suggests they bring Mandy on board, but fuck him, because he looks suspicious every time Rush says _anything_. He can't even take a piss without the man hounding him about where he's been, anymore. 

“Alright,” Young says, surprising Rush a little. “Let's bring her on board.” 

The minute Rush hears Mandy is aboard the Destiny he claims he's pressurized a new, undamaged section of the ship, sending Young on a fool's errand to search for escape pods or shuttles these aliens must have used themselves ages ago. 

The way Young leans over him with his rifle, the way his voice rumbles when he says “Keep me posted on your progress”, the way his eyes linger on him for longer than is necessary... all of it sets off alarm bells in his hindbrain, nervous fear and unsettling anticipation zipping down his back, leaving him tingling with unsatisfied relief once Young is finally out of earshot. 

The minutes waiting for Mandy to figure it out before Young finally tires of combing the deserted ship for anything useful and return stretch into a restless fit of dragging his hands through his hair and trying not to give in to the urge to nervously jiggle his legs. 

Mandy's voice is filled with wonder once she's found the bridge, and Rush can't help the warm surge of fondness weaving through his chest. She gets it. She understands how magnificent Destiny is, how awe-inspiring the discovery of the bridge is, itself. If Mandy had been here, on Destiny... He wouldn't have kept the bridge from her. He wouldn't have... Perhaps he wouldn't have been overworked to the point where he'd started missing things. Perhaps Sergeant Riley would still be alive and they'd still have the shuttle. 

She doesn't understand why he refuses to let the others in on the fact that he cracked the master code, but when he tells her she's the only one he can trust (it's not even a lie, he's not even lying to manipulate her) something softens in her tone and she listens without further argument. He feels a dark, humorless laugh tickle on the back of his tongue at her naivety when she refers to Eli and the science team as his friends. He doesn't have any friends other than Mandy. No one he can trust. No one he can talk to. No one he can ask to join him on Destiny's mission. 

The amount of relief that washes through him when Mandy manages to turn the ship around makes him waver, reach for the wall for stability. His plan worked, Destiny's coming for him – he's not going to die on this ship with no one but Colonel Young for company – and no one found out about the bridge. His plan _worked_. 

Of course that's when everything falls apart. Eli's shrill voice, betrayed and whiny, is too loud, and Rush's fingers are too slow when he scrambles to turn off the radio in time. When Young steps out from the shadows, rifle in hand, Rush's heartbeat triples until it's hammering an almost painful staccato against his ribcage. 

“Look, Colonel, I had every intention of—” 

“You broke the code,” Young cuts him off with an unnatural amount of calm. 

“Yes,” he admits. 

“When?” 

Rush frowns, why does Young care when he broke the code? It seems a petty and irrelevant question to ask. “Does it matter?” 

“ _When_?” 

The moment of silence between them is loaded with tension, and Rush doesn't allow himself the hope that this isn't going to end with his brain splattered all over the deck plating of this abandoned alien spacecraft. 

“Shortly after the Lucian Alliance attack.” 

Young puts his gun down carefully, places it against the wall with an amount of precision that feels oddly hilarious – or perhaps that wobble in the back of Rush's throat is just fear. Because he's seen Young like this before. 

It's not that he's never had beatings. That the thought of physical pain terrifies him into stiffness (and isn't there a world of irony in that sentence, because in the worst, fucked up way it _does_ ). It's that with Young everything is just that much more acute, because the last time Young looked at him this way he'd killed Rush. Not very effectively, perhaps, but that was more due to Rush's inability to lie down and die than any lack of intent on Young's part. 

Men like Young - dumb, brutish, _strong_ \- he's always hated them. He hates how they make him feel, like they can take what they want from him whether he likes it or not. Men who think that what they want is more valid than what he wants simply because they can bodily make him comply. Carrying a sense of entitlement borne out of nothing more than physical prowess despite the fact that they are inferior to him in every other way. He fucking _hates_ himself for the frisson of lust that skitters down his spine at the thought of Young's hands on him. He hates that some messed up, wired-wrong part of him flutters with impatience. Aches with the desire to be _hurt_. Because he's not going to wake up this time. Young is going to finish the job he started in another galaxy. 

He feels his cock twitch. 

It's fucked up, _he's_ fucked up, because it should scare him (it _does_ scare him, enough that his hands are flying up and his mouth is babbling some weak explanation, anything to get the animal in front of him to stop, to wait, to hear him out). 

Young doesn't seem interested in his words (of course he isn't), opting to leave his rifle against one of the bulkheads (and why doesn't he just shoot Rush if he wants to kill him? Because he wants to use his hands, probably) before encroaching on his space and striking him, _hard_. 

“I should've killed you when I had the chance,” Young says, before punching him again, kicking him in the stomach. It's strange, Rush thinks, feeling as if he's floating above himself for an odd second or two. It's strange that Young's voice is almost emotionless. The man manages to put so much anger, betrayal, _rage_ into his words sometimes, but right now he sounded almost robotic. 

Then Young tosses him across the ship and hauls him up by his neck, hand on his throat and face mere inches away from his. Finally Young's voice sounds like it should, furious and breathless and blaming him for everything that happened to Sergeant Riley and the shuttle, and Rush snaps back into himself. He struggles, fights with everything he has despite knowing that it won't be enough. It won't ever be enough. 

He slams the kino into Young's jaw to get him to back off – to get him _away_ from him, before trying against all reason to overpower Young. The few milliseconds on top of him, straddling him, feel like a whole world of victory in their own right before Young flips them around, subdues him, arm tight across his neck until everything fades into black (this is really it, then? This is how he's going to die? Choked to death by a man barely capable of dealing with his own issues? It seems fitting as much as it is the kind of anticlimax he's always feared more than anything). 

Rush doesn't know how long he's unconscious, but when he wakes up – and the fact that he wakes up at all is something so unexpected he doesn't know what to think of it – he crawls to the relative safety of the opposite wall. Young is prowling around him like a lion, heavy and strong and so fucking capable it makes something lurch dangerously in Rush's belly. Young could still kill him, of course, all he'd have to do is take a few steps, or simply aim his rifle and _shoot_ , but Young surprises him by asking a question. And then another. Until Rush realizes Young is actually trying to figure him out. He actually wants to know. 

And Christ, sometimes he thinks they should fight more often, even if a deep, throbbing headache is piercing the back of his left eye (oxygen deprivation or simply blunt force trauma?), because afterwards it's always as if they can finally _communicate_. The way they're talking right now, the way Young is looking at him... Perhaps Destiny was right when she used Gloria's face to tell him to speak to Young about the mission, because the man isn't shrugging any of it off. He's not bored and callous the way Rush had expected him to be. He actually wants to _know_. 

They resettle the truce they'd broken weeks ago – sweeping betrayal and pain under the rug of history to pretend it never happened, even if it _did_. 

“No more lies,” Rush promises. Young laughs, then, says he's a lot of work, and Rush isn't sure how to interpret that. How it makes him feel. Young does not quite believe him, but perhaps he _wants_ to. And perhaps that is something Rush can work with. 

Rush isn't entirely ready to believe it all himself, actually. Still, despite his hesitations about Young's intentions he doesn't even have to think about running towards the Colonel – floating through space in his suit, doomed to bounce off the hull and disappear into space forever – to grab him and ground him, keep him right here on the ship that he's in charge of. The magnetic feel of Young's metal-covered hand in Rush's own and the nod Young gives him fill him with an almost painful surge of hope. Perhaps Young gets it. Perhaps Young really understands. 

He's still somewhat surprised he doesn't get hauled off and thrown into the brig the moment they step aboard. 

“I'll talk to the crew,” Young says intently, before giving him a look so uninterpretable Rush has no choice but to cast his gaze aside. 

And maybe, Rush thinks, making his way to his own quarters. Maybe Young's approval, Young's _understanding_ is something he values more than he'd thought. 

Everything in his head is buzzing, thoughts flitting from one corner of his mind to another, and beneath it all he can still feel Young's fingers scrabbling at his shirts, his weight on top of him, his arm wrapping around his throat. It should scare him, probably, but instead it inspires a hot _want_ he hasn't felt in ages. He wants to... fuck, he wants Young to touch him again, to instill more of that burning fear and anticipation in his veins. He wants Young to recoil at the realization that Rush is affected, physically aroused by the turn of events, and he wants to feel that heavy fist curl around his prick and stroke it to climax. He wants to cover Young in his come, head to toe, and Jesus, how's that for a no-win scenario? 

So instead of searching out the Colonel, he finds himself in front of Brody's still. He rarely goes here – alcohol does little more than cloud his judgment and give him headaches that make working much too hard – but he feels no compunctions about grabbing twice his weekly ration. His head already aches, anyway. 

He can't go to Young – he _won't_ – because the man is probably not even in his quarters, still too busy talking down the crew from lynching him. And even if he was in his quarters, there's no chance he'll ever want to touch Rush the way Rush needs him to. He's never going to kiss him, to bite him, to press his fingers into him in a way that isn't meant merely to wound. 

So he goes to Mandy. 

Mandy is... she'd tried her best to protect him. She's the only person in the universe that he trusts, and she wants him. He still isn't quite convinced that that want is reciprocal, because for as long as he's known her he's thought of her as a friend, young and impressionable and sweet as she is. But this can't hurt. He can give her what she wants (incomprehensible as that is to him, because what can an overworked mathematician on the wrong side of fifty really offer a brilliant girl like her?) while getting something he wants as well. He can give her the physical intimacy she craves, even stuck in a body that isn't her own, and quiet a few of his own urges in the process. 

She is sweet, precious even, and Rush is more than ready to skip past the fact that the last time they tried this his heart and body had revolted to the point where he'd had to push her off. 

Still, when Eli barges into Ginn's quarters to tell him Colonel Young wants to see him on the bridge, he can't help but go. Young isn't giving him a choice, he tells himself, and he isn't going to acknowledge the swirl of amorphous lust that that thought stirs up in his lower belly. 

Afterwards, after all is said and done and he's back in his empty quarters, wrung out and alone, he will wonder if her death is some kind of divine punishment. If perhaps him wanting to see Young while he should've been with her is why she had to die. Like his personal shortcomings as a lover are to blame for her erasure from this world. 

Finding her (Ginn's) body, alone and lifeless, makes him feel guilty. Almost as guilty as leaving Gloria to die alone. All he can think of to diminish the hollow ache in his chest is to focus instead on the burning rage inside him. On the furious need for revenge. He chases her killer across a goddamn desert planet until he can obliterate him the way he obliterated Mandy. Spatters his brain across the dusty ruins of a planet billions of lightyears away from Mandy's dead body (spattered brains across the metal deck plating of an abandoned spaceship. A cloud of dust and sand twirling over the cold floor of a deserted alien planet).

It doesn't do much to dull the ache in his chest. The anger drains out of him with the blood streaming from the gaping hole in Simeon's skull, and all Rush is left with is the bitter taste of guilt and loss. 

The way back to the gate is a blur of pain and regret and desolation. Destiny might be gone. The crew may have knowledge of the bridge now, but it might take them too long to figure it all out and turn the ship around for him (and wouldn't that just be a fitting end? To die here on this backwater planet because he refused to trust his shipmates until he had no choice. Until it was too late). 

A dark part of Rush wonders whether it is truly all relief that he feels when he finds Scott standing at the planet's stargate. 

Young is waiting for him in the gate room, a devastating force of nature wrapped in layers of resigned understanding that does nothing to assuage any of his emotions, and Rush crashes to his knees in front of him and weeps. 

Young curls an arm around him, shields his face from prying eyes, and pulls him to his feet. Escorts him to his quarters. 

He will spend most of that night thinking about things he can't change. Mistakes he wishes he hadn't made. Mandy. Gloria. _Young_. 

The Colonel brings him to his room, takes off Rush's shoes before dumping him almost carefully on the bed (carefully, like he'd placed his rifle against the wall of that alien ship) and flipping the covers over him. 

Rush curls on his side, his back to Young (he shouldn't show his back to Young but he needs to, and he's not even certain if it's because he wants to prove that he's not afraid, or that right now he _wants_ Young to attack him, to pound him down and scratch him open until there's nothing left but pulsing red agony). 

“...Rush,” Young says, tone low and gravelly and full of emotion that Rush guesses is nearly invisible on his face. Unless you know where to look (and Rush is learning to, slowly but surely. He's learning where to look when it comes to Young). 

He doesn't answer, and with a small sigh Young steps back. 

“Let me know if you need anything,” he says, clinking something down on his nightstand (it sounds like a gun but it turns out to be a canteen filled with water). Then he turns around and leaves, footsteps padding quietly down the corridor. 

Rush closes his eyes and tries to sleep.


End file.
